Interlude One
by ValerianCorvidae
Summary: When John and Sherlock visit Olivia's flat, they get a nasty surprise.  follows immediately after First Day Jitters


Interlude One

Dinner at the Thai place was excellent, and John spent his meal being completely amused at how Olivia and Sherlock bickered and teased each other. Before too long, they were sounding more like siblings than uncle and niece, and it was good to see Sherlock relax.

"Where are you living now?" Sherlock asked. "You're not living at the University now, I can see that."

"You're not going to tell me?" Livvy teased, grinning over her tea.

Sherlock snorted and waved one hand. "Not at the University. It's too far to commute to this position, and you won't be done with your studies until next... June, is it?"

"December," Livvy answered. "I'm taking the spring term off. The Olympics."

"Of course," Sherlock nodded. "Yes, that would take up all of your time, wouldn't it? You want to be close to your work, in case of emergency. Someplace within easy walking distance, since..." He stopped, looked out the grimy window of the restaurant.

"Since I don't drive," Livvy finished. "And you're looking at my place." She pointed out the window. "The white flat across the way. Want to come up?"

#

The flat was neat as a pin, and John looked around and smiled. "Nice place."

"Thank you," Livvy answered. She hung her coat on a hook next to the door and walked into the small kitchen. "Tea?"

"Please?" John answered. He turned and looked at Sherlock, who was standing with his back to the room, looking at some photographs on a bookshelf. "Sherlock?"

"Hm? Oh, yes. Tea. John, come here."

John frowned and immediately went to Sherlock's side, hearing Livvy asking "Uncle Lock, is something wrong?" from behind him. Once he could see what Sherlock was looking at, John knew what the matter was.

"Fuck," he breathed, picking up the picture. It was a group photo, taken at some park or other, and obviously not long ago. Livvy was in the middle. On her left was Sebastian Moran. On her right...

"Livvy? Who is this?" Sherlock asked.

"What is it?" she asked, coming up to them. "What's wrong?" She looked at the picture and sighed. "Oh. That. Baz and I were friends outside of work. I liked him." She blushed and took the picture from John. "We had a picnic at Kew Gardens, last May, when Jimmy was last in town..."

"You had a picnic. With James Moriarty. Have you gone insane?" Sherlock snapped. Livvy went pale.

"What?" she gasped. She shook her head, holding the picture to her chest. "No... Uncle Lock, you aren't serious, are you?"

"You didn't know?" John asked gently, glaring at Sherlock to keep him from saying anything. Sherlock glared back, then turned away, pulling his mobile from his pocket.

Livvy shook her head, looking down at the picture. "Father... he handles anything to do with Moriarty himself. Anything he doesn't touch, Anthea does. All I know is that he exists. I've never seen a picture, or read any of the reports. I had no idea..." She swallowed, shoved the picture into John's hands, then ran from the room. John heard a door slam, and turned away to see Sherlock looking at him.

"Mycroft hasn't been to visit her here," he said. "He hadn't seen the picture."

"Was it deliberate?" John asked. "The bomb? Was he trying to kill her? Dear God, why?"

"Does he need a reason?" Sherlock asked in response. John shook his head and walked away, looking at the rest of the pictures.

"There's another one," he said. He picked up the picture and frowned. "Sherlock, this one was taken here!"

"They helped me move in," Livvy said in a small voice. "Them.. Tobe. They were all here. Father... he should probably send a team."

John looked at Sherlock, who nodded and went back to his mobile. John walked over to Livvy, putting on hand on her shoulder. "Livvy, are you all right?"

"No," she answered immediately and covered her mouth with her hand. "Damn. I... I liked him. He was sweet, and funny. He was really, really in love with Baz. They were so... so damned cute together." She looked down and blurted out, "And here I was worried about what I was going to tell him!"

"He played you for a fool, Livvy," Sherlock said from across the room.

"Tell me something I don't know!" she snapped back. "I... damn it all, Uncle Lock. The last time... after the picnic... he..." she looked down, then walked away from John, going to a desk in the corner. There, she powered up her laptop, then loaded something. After a moment, a video started, showing Livvy herself, standing in the middle of a large room.

_"Simple, all right?"_

_"Of course, Liv." _John blinked at the sound of Moriarty's voice. _"You said it's been years. I'm not going to get you hurt."_

_" I don't even know if I still can."_

_"No way to know unless you do." _He walked into view, holding his hand out to Livvy. _"Come on, Liv. Show me."_

What followed left John confused - _this _ was the same man who'd killed so many people, who'd kidnapped John himself and strapped a bomb to him? This... considerate, laughing gentleman who coaxed Livvy into dancing? Who danced with her, and who caught her when her bad leg buckled under the strain? _This_ was Moriarty?

Sherlock sat down in front of the computer, his hands pressed together under his chin, saying nothing. John turned to Livvy, and wasn't surprised to see tears on her cheeks.

"You know," she said softly. "You know what it's like, when you find someone who understands. Who you don't have to hide who and what you are around. You know!"

Sherlock nodded once. "I know. How long, Livvy?" He turned around and looked up at her.

Livvy flushed scarlet and John realized what Sherlock was asking.

"You were... Christ, you were sleeping with him?" John gasped.

"Not Jimmy, no," Livvy answered, shaking her head. "He wasn't interested in me."

"But you were sleeping with Baz," John said flatly. Livvy nodded.

The laptop crackled, and the screen went black. Sherlock turned to face the desk, his hand hovering over the keyboard. Before he could do anything, the screen came back to life.

"Hello, Liv," Moriarty said. He smiled. "Hi, Sexy. Miss me?"

"Not at all," Sherlock answered. "What do you want?"

"I want what's mine," Moriarty said firmly. "And you're going to give him back."

Sherlock sniffed, then said, "Out of my power and you know that. I don't even know what they've done with him."

"Find out, Sherlock." Moriarty leaned forward, his face filling the screen. "You really need to find out." He leaned back and smiled. "Don't say I didn't warn you," he added. Then the screen went black.

"Go pack a bag," John said softly to Livvy.

"No." Sherlock slammed the laptop closed and stood up. "No, take nothing out of this flat. Let's go."

"Where?" Livvy grabbed her coat and pulled it on as they filed out and down the single flight of stairs. Sherlock didn't answer; he hailed a cab and piled all of them inside. Only then did he speak.

"221B Baker Street."

#

"It isn't much," Mrs. Hudson said as she opened the door. "An efficiency, really. I hadn't thought to rent it out."

John followed Livvy and Sherlock into the untenanted 221C and looked around. A single room, a door that probably led into the bathroom. A tiny, galley kitchen. All as clean as only Mrs. Hudson could make it, but all a bit fusty. Unlived in. That would change.

"This will suit me fine, thank you," Livvy said.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said, smiling down at the older woman.

"It's nothing, dears," Mrs. Hudson said. "Now, come upstairs and have a cuppa."

"In a moment, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said, and escorted the landlady to the door. He closed the door behind her and turned around. "Well?"

"She's very nice," Livvy said. She looked around, then back at Sherlock. "You're going to be watching me, aren't you?"

"That goes without saying," Sherlock answered. "Mycroft sent a team to the other apartment. He'll have your things cleaned and inspected and brought here as soon as possible."

"And you're welcome to come up and use my computer until you get a new one," John added.

"Thank you," Livvy said. She shoved her hands in her pockets and wandered over to the window. "What do you think he meant? What is he up to?"

It didn't take a genius or a Holmes to figure out what she was talking about. John sighed and scratched the back of his neck. "I'm afraid we'll know soon enough."


End file.
